Watercolours
by helenealbra
Summary: Jack is planning a new scheme, and for that he needs a pickpocket. Luckily, he has just met one, as they happened to save each other's lives. She is young and innocent looking, but with a darkness in her eyes that worries the captain. While they travel together, he learns more about her demons – and in many ways his own. And as always, there is treasures and fights and sarcasm.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**

**Yes, yes, I switched the first and second chapter around. Bwahahaha! But really, I think it kicks of the story with more action this way, don't you think?**

Chapter one – Quick fingers

"Hey, you!" The sound of heavy booths on the wooden pier behind me. Damn it! I was certain that the man where too sauced to notice his pockets getting lighter, turns out he wasn't quite that drunk. More booths against wood and angry voices, he apparently brought friends. Double-damn it! Should I even bother to run?

A heavy hand lands on my shoulder before I get to make up my mind about running. The grip tightens and forces me around to face an only slightly modified version of the monster I imagined living under my bed as a child - just hair and dirt everywhere.

"Where is my money, you little hussy?!" The reeking horror of his breath momentarily paralyses me, before I force my face into an expression of innocent confusion.

"Which money? I don't…" The lie is cut short as he slams me into the wall behind me and puts a hand on my throat, squeezing hard. His eyes dark little pits of malice as he snarls:

"Where is it?! Tell me, and I will kill you less painfully…" His grip tightens and my vision begins to blur.

"Okay, okay," I gasp, "I'll give it back." He loosens his grip as I fumble in my belt for his money pouch. Still gasping for air, I drop it in his hands.

"Sorry about that, you know how it is, a girl's got to eat, right guys?" The futile attempt at reconciliation sticks in my throat as the man and his three friends close in on me. I give them a quick scan; dirty, threadbare clothes, and stupid expressions, an air of drunken anger among them. They look like a bunch of sad losers– the most dangerous kind when they are outnumbering you. I can sense how badly they want to beat me up, such an easy victim, a lone girl on a dark pier, a chance for them to feel big and powerful. One of them laughs, a low, evil laugh, laced with sadistic pleasure. Panicking I look around me for anyone or anything that might be able to help me, and I'm aware of a creak in the pier that are just in front of the closest man's booth tip. It's a trap door used to dump waste from the bar into the sea, all the men are standing on it! My spirit rises, only to sink again when I see that the lever is about a meter out of reach, I will never get to it in time.

The man closest to me pulls a knife from his sleeve and grins at me, I feel my body go numb with fear as I wait for the pain to set in…

"'And really bad legs' … legs? No, that can't be it… could it be pegs? Well, doesn't matter… 'Drink up, me hearties, yoho!'" We all turn around to determine the source of the singing, it turns out to be a man with dread locks and a definite pirate look about himself that staggers out of the door. The four men stare at him for about a second, before one of them lets out a furious roar:

"Sparrow!" The name seems to anger his comrades ass well, because they all draw their weapons and prepare to cut him into pieces. The man apparently known as Sparrow freezes mid-step, sways a little and simply states:

"Oh bugger."

Then he stares perplexed into the empty air, previously occupied with the four men that are now struggling to stay afloat in the dark water beneath the pier. He looks further around, and his glance lands on me, leaning against the lever, still a bit short of breath. He sends me a bright drunk smile.

"Excellent work there, lad…" He staggers closer and squints at me, "lass," he corrects himself, as his smile vanishes and he stares darkly into the water, where small bubbles on the surface is the only evidence left of the four men's existence. "There is just the _tiniest _little problem. You see, one of those men had something that I needed – something I've been looking for a long time. Incredible valuable, and now it is on its way to Davy Jones' locker. Unless…" he sends me a calculating look, suddenly seemingly sober. I read the intention in his eyes before he moves, and in an instance I dodge the grab he makes for me, in the same movement picking up the knife one of the men dropped in his fall.

I hold the weapon in front of me, waving it threateningly as he approaches me. He doesn't seem to be very intimidated though, as he keeps his own sword in his belt.

"Stay back!" I can hear how my voice cracks from fear, so can he apparently, because he raise his hands calmingly and talks in a softer voice.

"Relax, girlie, I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to know if you have it. I was watching you in the bar, you have some quick little fingers there." He smiles a smile that he probably intends to be trust-inducing. I'm not convinced, but I lower the knife, it wouldn't do much good against a sword anyway.

"I might have it," I admit, hesitantly. "What is it you want?"

"An engraved gold coin, probably in the coin purse of the fattest man now fertilising the ocean floor." I rummage in my pocket and pulls out a golden coin, slightly bigger and with a different surface from normal coins. It was the fat man's. I gave him back his coin purse, but kept the money, I'm a thief after all.

"This one?" I see the hunger in his eyes, and cautiously take a step backwards. "You can have it," I hurriedly add. "As thanks for distracting the men so I could pull the lever. I will give it to you if you promise not to hurt me."

"Oh, really? Brilliant, we have a deal then: no hurting if I get the coin. You drive a tough bargain, but so be it!" He grins and catches the coin I toss him. As he starts to examine it, seemingly in a state of childish bliss, I turn and walk away, happy to leave this whole experience behind me as fast as possible.

After about fifty steps, I hear running behind me. Now what? I just want to go curl up somewhere and wait for my heart to stop racing.

"Hey, girlie?" I turn around rapidly, tiredness, fear and adrenaline fusing together into reckless rage.

"What?! Leave me the hell alone, Sparrow or you will regret it! I might look defenceless, but I did actually _kill _those men on the pier! So just go play with your coin and let me leave." He sways slightly and studies me a moment, drunkenness suddenly back for some reason. Then he waves his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

"Relax, girlie, I promised I wouldn't hurt you, remember? My promises might not be worth much, but you can always trust me to take the easy way out, hurting you would be way too much effort." This relaxes me slightly, he sees that and continues: "Truth is, I could use someone with your talents. I have sort of a great… undertaking planned, and I need a skilled pickpocket, such as you. In return for your services, you will get a share of the spoils. In addition to the opportunity to travel and experience exciting new… experiences." He finished with a bright smile. "What say you?"

I look at him, sceptically, trying to determine whether I should even consider his offer, whether he is trustworthy – probably not – whether I have anything to lose – highly debatable. He moves closer and looks into my eyes. Suddenly he looks very serious.

"As for the men you killed, I haven't forgot, I'm actually still a tiny bit shaken up about that, but you don't seem to be, love. I would think of that as a warning sign if I were you. I think you might be drowning yourself, in some way."

I look at him, confused, an unfamiliar burning sensation behind my eyes. What the hell is he going at? He continues talking, as I'm somehow unable to tell him to shut up.

"Your eyes… I know where one get that a look in ones eyes, it's a bad place, but the road you are heading down now… well, let's just say it leads to an even worse one." The serious session seems to be over, as he pats me lightly on my shoulder and smiles toothily. "So… are you coming, girlie? Ether or, I need to get going soon, so you better make up you mind, savvy?"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two – Mad eyes and a broken compass

I stare into the golden fire, watching the wild dance of the flames, while the heat dries my damp clothes. Inside me, I can feel my very soul thawing from the dormant state it has been in for so many years. For the first time in what seems like forever, I feel slightly… something.

The night is quiet, except from the distant sound of the waves and the muttering of the man opposite me. His eyes are filled with a glow that has little to do with the bonfire we made in the sand. I've seen that glow before, in the eyes of ragged sailors in the bars of Tortuga, men that speak in hushed voices, brimming with excitement, bending over maps with mystic symbols. That glow is the thrill of the chase, the pleasure of obsession – gold lust.

The man, who presented himself as _Captain _Jack Sparrow, is looking at a compass. He has been toying with that thing for hours and talking to himself, which does not bode well for his mental health in my opinion, especially when considering that the compass is most definitely broken. Earlier that evening, while building the fire, I sneaked a peak on it, and wasn't pointing north, even a landlubber like myself could see that.

I burry my naked feet in the cool white sand and consider my situation: I'm alone on a beach at night with a man with mad eyes and a broken compass, he is probably insane and possibly dangerous, I should be afraid, instead I feel… a pleasant tingling.

"Jack?" The muttering stops and he raises his head.

"Yeah?"

"What were we stealing again?" A yellow sparkle, as the light is reflected by the gold tooth in his wide, mischievous grin.

"Glad you asked, girlie. You see, this is really quite a special one…"

I shift closer to the fire as he retells the story from earlier today. We both know I haven't forgotten it since then, but it is just such a good story. The tingle in my stomach again, and this time I recognise it… excitement.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**

**Hi! I'm new and didn't understand how to make author's notes earlier, maybe I still don't, we'll se how this one turns out. Anyway, here is a new chapter! I would love to hear what you guys think, so reviews will be deeply appreciated. Also this story is quite open, I have a plot drafted, but it is quite loose, so if you have any suggestions or wishes, please let me know. **

**Note: I switch POVs between Jack and my OC, these switches are marked with a horizontal line.**

**Disclaimer: Own nothing, all Disney's, just-for-fun and all that jazz… **

**English is not my first language, this will sometimes become apparent, despite the best efforts of Google translate and myself, so please have patience with us. **

**Enough with the ramblings, here's chapter three: **

Chapter three - In the marked for a ship

(Next morning)

I hang my head and groan – for once to wake up without a hangover would be the nicest thing! On the other hand, no hangovers means no rum, and I really, _really _love rum. I sit up and take in the figure lying next to me in the sand. She looks about fifteen, which is too young for my taste to be honest. She is also a bit too skinny to fit my usual preference for bed companions. What the hell is she doing here? The mist of sleep lifts, and I remember yesterday. The thief, excellent! And I've also got the coin, now all we need is a boat for me to be captain of, and we'll be good to go.

I walk the few steps to where she is lying. She has curled up in to a ball in the sand, her eyes are pinched shut, and she stirs and whimpers in her sleep. Nightmares? Well, no harm in waking her then...

* * *

I'm pulled from the black sea of sleep by a nudging sensation in my side. Confused I force my eyes open and stare at the worn leather booth of _captain _Jack Sparrow, poking my side rather annoyingly. Tilting my head, I look straight into his face, as he studies me with an expectant look.

"Ready to go, girlie?" I shake my head to untangle the remaining webs of sleep in my brain.

"Go where?" His eyes lights up with joy and he pulls me to my feet, impatiently hushing me towards the road.

"To steal a boat of course! No point in being a pirate captain without a boat. Come now, no time to waste!"

We trudge down the dusty road together. I have to skip at every other step to keep up with Jack's unsteady but surprisingly effective style of walking. It's already quite hot, my head hurts slightly and I'm feeling weak from hunger. I haven't eaten since yesterday morning, as I didn't have money to buy food, a state I was trying to change when meeting Jack. I still have the money I stole from one of the men that drowned last evening. (Which was a complete accident by the way, I honestly believed they could swim, we are on an island, for god's sake!) The coins in my pocked can probably pay for some sort of breakfast, if we manage to find some food to buy.

"Jack…" I begin. He turns to me with a surprised look in his eye, like he'd forgotten I was there.

"What did you say your name was again, girlie?"

"I didn't." He looks at me expectantly, but I stay quiet. I don't really know what to tell him. It is so long since I've had a name I didn't give myself, and I change those fairly often. Jack crinkles his nose at me and shrugs.

"Okay, you wont tell and I don't care. Very well, then I shall be calling you Girlie."

"You already are."

"No point in fixing that which isn't broken, love." He grins and we march on down the dusty road, towards the docks of Tortuga. Above us, the sun is rising in the sky, burning hotter every minute.

* * *

We reach the docks and I inspect the various ships, looking for one that would fit our purpose and look great with my outfit. I must say the selection is rather disappointing, it mostly consist of shabby dingies and half rotted fishing boats, while I was picturing more of a stately ship. Well, some of them aren't half bad, and we can always steal another boat later on. I turn to the girl, who has been asking me something while I was busy boat-shopping. Didn't really catch it, but never mind, we'll have time to chat later. I point to the least shabby of the boats, which is tarred in a rather fetching shade of dark brown.

"We want that one. Now I'll distract the guard while you steal the boat."

"Why can't I distract the guard while you steal the boat?" She glares at me in quite an insubordinate way.

"Because I'm the captain and you're the thief, that's why. Wouldn't be much reason to employ a thief if I have to do the stealing myself, would it? Just wouldn't be logical."

"But I'm a pickpocket! I don't know anything about boats."

I dismiss her protest with an elegant hand gesture.

"It'll be fine, you just have to… improvise, that's what I always do." She rolls her eyes for some reason, and follows me to the guard patrolling the dock.

I study the guard. He is a big guy, armed with a sword and a gun. I could probably take him, but the noise will attract people, and people here aren't nice as a rule – or more accurately put – as a law. I decide to dazzle him with my charm instead, and scrounge my face up in my most trust-inducing look.

"Good morning, my good sir, what a lovely day we are having! What would be the name of the lovely vessel you are protecting?" He looks at me sourly and keeps walking, ignoring me. Girly gives me a sceptical look and I signal for her to be patient. I follow the guard on his patrol down the dock, matching his speed for a few steps, quickly thinking up a new strategy.

"You look like a smart fellow." He snorts dismissively but I carry on. "You strike me as the kind of man that prefers to make good money by using his intelligence. I like to see that in people, and therefore I'll offer you a deal: My sources informs me that this ship is transporting an item of incredible value. If you keep watch out here while I go inside and get it, I'll share the profit." I shoot him a conspiratorial look but he seems strangely unimpressed.

"Piss off, mate! Don't you think I've heard them all before? Do you really think you're the first one to try to steal a boat in Tortuga?"

I look at him with my most bewildered expression, while I'm internally grinding my teeth in frustration. Figures the only functional guard in Tortuga are those guarding property! This one will apparently not be easily fooled… I am ransacking my brain for a different approach when there's a loud bump behind me, and turn around to see Girlie lying in a heap on the ground. Brilliant! I wave my hand at the guard.

"Quickly, get some help, and some fresh water!" He looks hesitant, so I add a second incentive to that of pure altruism. "It would be a shame if she died on this dock with you on guard, might lead to bothersome questions." That does it, and he shoots of.

"Good work, love! Now let us get out of here." I run towards my selected ship, but stop and turn around as I notice the lacking sound of little feet following behind me. Girlie is still lying on the ground. I kneel down by her and shake her shoulder, no response. Bugger!

I scoop her up in my arms and register that she is worryingly light and quite bony beneath the fabric of her worn dress. Then I carry her onboard the boat and lay her gently on the deck before I hastily prepare the ship and set sail for open sea.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N**

**Back again! This chapter is shorter than the previous two. The chapter-length will probably vary quite a bit during this story, as I end them when I feel it fits. **

**Disclaimer: Copyright protection only last for 70 years after the creator's death, and some day my grandchildren's children can exploit the hell out of this franchise, but for now I'm just in it for the giggles.**

**And now: Onwards! **

Chapter four - We've all got scars, love…

After some time we're on a safe distance from Tortuga and I can take the time to check on my unconscious pickpocket. She still hasn't moved from her spot on the deck, and further investigations reveal that she is still unconscious, which worries me. It would probably be wise to loosen her clothing to allow her to breathe better, so I remove her jacket, baring her arms, which causes me to shudder slightly: They are covered in bruises, which seem to be a couple of days old, judging from the colour. Her forearms look particularly bad, and I've been in my fair share of fights, so can interpret that pattern: This is the kind of bruises one get from trying to shield the rest of the body from blows. The bruises you get when there is no chance of fighting back, and all you can do is to try to minimize damage and wait for it all to pass over.

Underneath the bruises I see a great deal of scars. They all look quite old, but some of them seem to have been quite serious, especially the one across her collarbone. It is about ten centimetres long, and seems to have been made by a sharp knife or sword.

A dark red spot on her left shoulder catches my attention, so I carefully pull the sleeve of her dress aside and reveal what can most accurately be described as a brand – A red scar in the shape of an H, probably made by a heated iron. My hand automatically travels to the pirate brand on my right forearm and I feel a bit nauseous. I shake it off and go to get some water to splash on Girlie and hopefully wake her.

* * *

I wake with the cool sensation of water on my skin and in my hair. When I open my eyes, my blurred vision clears to reveal Jack staring down at me, yet again. Jeez! I really wish I'd he'd stop being my first sight every time I wake up! I'm lying on the back on a hard surface that feels wooden beneath my fingers. We appear to be moving, the calm rocking of waves and air's salty smell make me conclude that we're on a boat. _Why_ are we on a boat? I nudge my memory back into operation, and it all comes back to me: The docks, the guard, the heat and hunger, and me passing out like one of them posh ladies. How extremely embarrassing! Must have helped him get the boat though, because that scheme of his sure as hell wasn't going anywhere. Me collapsing probably distracted the guard or something, talk about silver lining…

I'm suddenly aware of a certain tension in the air, and it appears to me that the usually cheerful Jack has a worried look on his face. I rub my head and sit up.

"What?" He hesitates for bit before he asks:

"A hard life, is it? Being a pickpocket?" I'm confused by the question until I register that my jacket is missing. Shit! I cross my arms, hiding them as much as possible, unsure what to answer.

"Sometimes… as you saw when we met." He nods, his face reviling little emotion.

"And that?" He points to the mark on my shoulder. I can feel my stomach knot.

"That's just something I… acquired growing up." I curse the nervous stutter at the end of that sentence. I need us to stop talking about this.

"Some upbringing…" Jack mutters, his finger carefully tracing the scar across my collarbone. "A sword made this. Where exactly did you grow up?" I quickly pull away from him, probably with panic written all over my face. He appears to notice, because he too backs away, giving me some reassuring space. Then he looks at me with a small smile. "We've all got scars, love," he says in a hush voice. He pulls up his sleeve, revelling the "P" brand on his arm. The white scar tissue stands out from his tanned skin. "I_ acquired _this growing up, I was about twelve, I think." I nod in sympathy, he just shrug and smiles.

Sad sharing-time apparently over, he happily announces:

"As the captain of this boat, I order you to raid the larder. Can't have you passing out again when you should be busy thieving for me." I mock-salute and head under deck, hearing his cheery voice behind me as he adds: "And while you are down there, make sure to check for any rum!"

It takes some time to get use to the darkness under deck, luckily I find a tinderbox and a candle. The larder turns out to be well stocked, which pleases my rumbling stomach. I grab some cheese and salted meat from the shelves and look around for something to drink. As I pass by a wall, my candle flickers strangely. I examine the wall to find a small crack that lets in the draft. Some more careful exploring and I find a small lever, allowing me to slide a section of the wall to the side, revelling a second room. I enter the room and grin as the light of my candle is reflected by a hundred shining bottles.

"Jack!" I yell, still grinning. "You better come down here, I think you'll be pleased!"


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N**

**Hello, my lovelies! Here's a short little chapter with rum-induced boat-conversation, because we need those chapters sometimes. Next chapter will be action packed and less chatty, not to mention considerably longer. There will be hurling of pineapples… I would love some feedback on this story, so please drop me a review to let me know what you think. I am especially interested in comments concerning the story's point of view, as I'm considering experimenting with other points of view in later chapters. Is that something you would like? **

**Anyway, you all know the disclaimer, so let get down to business. **

Chapter five - Rum, boats and freedom.

I pull my gaze from the glittering stars above and sit up from my spot on the deck. Girly is sitting in front of me, leisurely propped against the mast. The dim glow from a single lantern enables me to see the soft smile on her lips, probably an effect of the now almost empty rum-bottle in her hand. She really looks quite happy, not at all like the miserable kid I picked up in Tortuga. I softly hum the chorus of the song I learned that night. I can't ever seem to remember the lyrics, but it's a damn catchy tune, though. Girly draws her breath in what sound suspiciously like a contempt sigh, and I can't help but smile.

"You happy there, love?" She jumps a little, clearly pulled from some deep thoughts, and looks a little flustered when she answers:

"I didn't think I'd enjoy it so much, being at sea."

"You've never been on a boat before?" I'm a little surprised, I was half her age when I was first onboard my fathers ship. And with her living in Tortuga, probably the busiest port in Caribbean, she would at least have _visited_ a ship. Perhaps she grew up in the inland far from water? Still, she would have had to cross water to get to the island of Tortuga. When she answers my question, she's avoiding eye contact, like she's ashamed of something.

"No, I've actually never been on a boat before. I grew up on an island, so my relationship with the ocean has always been… complicated." She pauses and fumbles for words before continuing. "There weren't any boats on the island, except for those who came to do trade. The water that surrounded us held us captive, but the sea was also a promise of freedom, allowing us to dream of something better if we could only ride those blue waves." She gives a little laugh, with a barely noticeable edge of bitterness. "I know it sounds kind of cheesy…"

"No, it doesn't!" I interrupt her, as this is my favourite topic. "That's just what a ship is all about, freedom! With a ship, the seven seas are yours for the taking, and with them, the world." She keeps staring down in her lap, appearing to be considering this for some time. Then she speaks, with a frail little voice that is really quite heartbreaking.

"I think that's all I've really wanted, freedom. I don't think I've ever truly had any…" Her words hit me with a strange force, as they strike a chord with my own tattered background. I brush it off as best as I can, and say in a loud, cheerful voice:

"Good thing you're with me, then, love. I'm the most freedom-loving, boat-sailing, sea-travelling man I know, and I assure you I've met a few salty scallywags in my days!" I say the last sentence in a very stereotypical "old sailor voice" and grin widely at her. It seems to brighten her up a bit and she asks:

"Jack, tell me about the treasure." I smile to myself in the darkness, toast to the aim of our hunt and take a swig of my own bottle.

"Such treasure! Bags of gold and boxes of gems, and the pearls… There's a black one, you know. Imagine that, owning a black pearl, while being captain of a boat named the very same! I could have my black pearl _on_ "The Black Parl", now _that_ would be something!" I can feel my mouth grinning wide. Girlie looks at me, suddenly intrigued.

"What's 'The Black Pearl?'"

"My ship."

"You had your own ship? One that you actually _owned?" _I huff at her sceptical look.

"Indeed I had, love – still have, as a matter of fact."

"Then why are we… you know…?" she waves her hand, indicating our less than stately vessel.

"Events unfolded and happenings… happened." I sigh. "Let me tell you a story, Girlie." She shifts to a comfortable position and look at me with amused anticipation. "It all begins with a young sailor waking up in a goat shed after a rather lively night in Singapore…"


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N**

**Many thanks to JellyWinchester for suggesting I use quotation marks in the dialogue! I feel it is a lot tidier, and I will go trough earlier chapters and use quotation marks there as well. Please let me know if there is any other ways I can improve my writing, feedback is always most welcome.**

**Disclaimer: Copyright infringement is the sincerest form of flattery…**

**Back to the story:**

Chapter six – First rule of stealing

Jack grimace at the sight of the heavily guarded property. We are hiding behind some barrels at the docks at Palomas Albergan, a small but wealthy port. The property we're currently staking out is the city hall, which, according to Jack, contains a map that is the second piece in our "great undertaking". We are here to steal it, but when Jack explained the plan to me yesterday, it didn't include patrolling guards. He looks away from the house and fixes me with a measuring stare.

"You know how to fight, love?" I roll my eyes and speak in a mock posh voice:

"I believe I'm quite deadly with a sword."

"Really?" His eyes light up in satisfaction, I make a face and exclaim:

"Of course I'm not! Do I look like someone who's good at fighting?!" He shrugs.

"You grew up on the street, I bet that toughens you up."

"I was a rather tiny kid living as a thief in Tortuga. That teaches you little about fighting and hell of a lot about running away. You've probably had your fair share of fights though. Any tips?" He looks at me and grins.

"Just go for their weak spots, Girlie. A well-placed knee does a world of good." I can feel my face looking sceptical.

"Knee them in the nuts? That's your advice?"

"It has always worked for me." I roll my eyes at him and get on my feet.

"Let's just go, Sparrow." He shambles to his feet, and adds:

"Probably best to keep away from them, though. Just to be safe."

We actually manage to sneak past the patrol, more due to luck – in form of one guard's lunch getting attacked by hungry seagulls – than any skill from our part, and we enter the big, wooden doors. Well inside the building, we both stop and look around. We are standing in a spacious hall, with stairs and corridors in every direction. There's a confused look on Jack's face that doesn't bode well.

"Where do we go?" I ask under my breath, to not attract any attention from potential guard patrolling inside. Jack appears to consider this for a second, then he points at one of the stairs and grins.

"We go up, Girlie. Valuables are always upstairs for some reason." He pauses with a puzzled look, and then continues, "unless they're in a dungeon. Dungeons are also good places for valuable items… But dungeons are also really hard to break in to, so let's go upstairs and hope the map is there." I roll my eyes and follow him up one of the stairs.

We pass three floors and stop when we reach the final forth one, both of us a bit out of breath. I catch my breath a bit faster than my much older accomplice, and head down the corridor at the top of the stairs. It turns out to be quite long, with several doors on both sides, and it continues around the corner. How the hell are we going to find the room with the map in it? I examine the doors, looking for clues to distinguish them, but none of the have any signs on them, and they are all made from the same plane wood. I hear distant talking, and almost get a hart attack, as someone grabs me from behind and cover my mouth with a rather dirty hand. It turns out to be Jack. He pulls me with him behind a big statue in the hallway, just as two guards rounds the corner. We hold our breath as they approach us, and let it out in relive when they enter the door in front of our hiding place. I feel like I'm about to throw up, but Jack look quite pleased.

"Now we know where to go," he whispers. I look at him, checking for signs of madness. "The valuable things are where the guards are," he explains. "First rule of stealing, you of all people should know that."

"I'm a thief, not a burglar."

"Poteto, potato… "

We carefully tiptoe down the corridor, straining our ears for any sound of approaching guards. As we reach the corner, Jack pops his head out carefully to assess the situation.

"Not good at all," he states. "Lots and lots of guards. You distract them, quickly, before anyone finds us!"

"How am I supposed to do that?" I hiss at him, he shrugs and shapes the word "captain" with his lips. Then he folds his arms and looks at me expectantly. I send him an annoyed grimace, then I look around me for something to use as a distraction. There's little of use in the corridor, but I can see one doors being half open, and sneak up to it.

The room is empty and looks like a small office, with a desk and some bookshelves. It appears to be in the middle of being cleaned, because there is a little trolley standing just inside the door. There is a bucket of water on it, and some mops and brooms. A white maid's apron hanging from one of the trolley's handle gives me an idea…

I run passed a wide-eyed Jack and towards the guards, my face shrewd up in a look of absolute terror.

"Fire! Fire in the library!" I scream on top of my lungs, hoping like hell that there actually is a library in the building. It appears to work, regardless, all the guards start running for the stairs, and soon the entire hallway is cleared. Jack nods approvingly at me, as he walks nonchalantly down the corridor to the guards' former position. I take of the apron and throw it in a corner, while he appears to me studying the floor with a strange enthusiasm.

"It's this door!" he announces. "The floorboards are worn from all the guards stationed outside it. And guarded rooms are seldom locked, as that would be totally unnecessary with all the strong men protecting it…" He turns the handle, his face the picture of bliss when the door indeed opens.

We go inside, closing the door behind us, and find our selves in a huge, sumptuously decorated room. Oil paintings are hanging from every wall, thick Persian rugs are covering the floors, and the room is lit by a golden chandelier. I can see how Jack is scanning the room for his prize, and a triumphant glow spreads in his face as he finds it. The map is displayed in a glass cabinet behind the heavy, wooden desk, along with a circular container, probably made from leather.

"You can always trust a rich bugger to be stupid," Jack states, before he grabs a paperweight in marble from the desk and smashes the cabinet. Then he grabs the map and shoves it into the container. "Got it, now let's get out of here, love." He gets to the door in a few quick strides, and flings it open, to find himself face to face with a group of armed soldiers. "Oh bugger!"

He slams the door on them and follows me, as I run towards the other door in the room. I open it, and enter what appears to be a large dining room. There is a massive table, taking up most of the room, but sadly, no more doors. Behind me, I hear the clinking of swords, the soldiers have caught up with Jack, and now he is fighting them, one against four. It appears to be going well for now, one of the soldiers is down, but there is three left, which is still pretty bad odds. I should probably help… I get back to the remains of the glass cabinet and pick up the paperweight, which I throw at the blackhead of the nearest solider. He sways a little from the impact, and this allows Jack to ram him with his sword and send him to the floor. Unfortunately, it also alerts them of my presence, and one of the two remaining guards comes for me, leaving Jack fighting with what appears to be their commander.

The other soldier approaches me, sword drawn. I really don't know what to do, as I know little about fighting and just threw away my only weapon. In panic I grab a large candelabra and start to wave it about like a lunatic. The solider stops in his advance for a second, looking more perplexed than actually threatened. Then he resumes his attack and run toward me. I drop the candelabra and scream like the little girl I actually am, and start running away from him, knowing that there is no exit in my direction. As it turns out, that doesn't matter. I hear a loud exclamation behind me, and turn just in time to se the soldier trip over the dropped candelabra. He drops to the floor, knocking himself unconscious against the dining table. I look at the fallen man and let out a deep sigh of relief and whisper to myself.

- I totally did that on purpose.

With one problem solved, I turn to Jack, to see how he is dealing with our remaining one. It appears the commander have discovered the reason for our little operation, as he and Jack are now both holding on to the container, fighting over it. As they are using both hands to clasp the container, there is no actual danger going on, but I'm worried more soldiers will show up. We need to get out of here! Looking around for helpful items, my eyes fall on a beautifully arranged fruit plate on the enormous dining table. It has apples, pears and oranges, but its crownpiece is a large pineapple. That will do nicely! I pick it up and hurl the fruit toward the solider, limiting his options to either letting go of the scroll or getting a face full of pineapple, which is a pretty easy decision to make. He catches the fruit, only to be hit in the face of Jack's fist instead.

Jack snatches the container from the ground with a loud "Hah!" and heads for the door. I quickly follow him, down all the stairs and out into the busy streets of Palomas Albergan.

We stop to catch our breath in a small ally. Jack waves the container triumphantly while I glare back at him.

"That could have gone better," I remark. He makes a dismissive gesture and smirks.

"Second rule of stealing, love: If we survive, there's no reason to complain."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N**

**Sooo, this happened… It was actually written after – or more accurately – during chapter eight, which was intended to be the seventh – you get the point. Anyway, here it is! Chapter eight is coming right up, as it is already written. **

Chapter seven – Handrés barber shop for the gallant sailor 

We are trotting down a small dusty street, slowly making our way back to the docks trough the town's network of alleys. I can tell by her quick steps that Girlie is looking forward to leaving this port. So am I, as the streets soon will be swarming with soldiers and guards looking for us after the commotion in the city hall. But we can't leave just yet. As we reach the end of the alley-network, glimpsing the dock and the blue sea ahead, I grab Girlie by the shoulder and yank her back.

"Not so fast, Girlie. Before we leave, there is something I must take care of." She sighs impatiently, and says in a bright voice, of which sincerity I have great doubts:

"And what might that be, oh captain, my captain?"

"My hair."

"Your _hair_?"

"Yes. Did you think it just get this way all by its self?"

"To be honest, yes I did."

I wrinkle my nose at her last comment, but dismiss it, as she has clearly no sense of style. Then I shoo her into the alley to the left, leading her to a small, blue stone house with a worn sign in the window, reading: _"Handré's barber shop for the gallant sailor. High fashion – Low prices." _I read even though I know it by heart and grin, I've been coming her for years. Girly reads the sign as well, mumbling some of the syllables under her breath. Then she looks at me and roll her eyes, a favourite habit of hers, I've noticed.

"I can't believe this."

"Come, come, Girlie. Wonders await us."

The little bell by the door announces our arrival with a broken cling as I open the door, and Handré comes hurrying down the spidery stairs, his face lighting up as he sees me.

"Ah! Captain Sparrow, long time, no see!" He shakes me warmly by the hand, then he spots Girlie.

"And you brought a lady friend. Welcome, senorita." I can't help but smile from the way Girlie blushes when Handré kiss her hand in a gallant manner.

"Thank you, senor" she mumbles.

Handré shows us in to the shop, which is really his living room with a chair and a mirror in it, and asks us to wait as he gets his scissors. Meanwhile, Girlie and I study the small room, which is painted in a rather nauseating shade of purple, and covered in various nick-knacks. Girlie seems to have regained her wits, and apparently the use of her voice.

"I'll admit this place is fascinating, but I still can't see the great importance of getting your hair cut in the middle of our getaway," she exclaims.

"That's because you lack my sense of style, love." I chuckle, as Girly rolls her eyes at me for probably the fifty-seventh time today.

"Clearly," she deadpans. I study my reflection in the worn mirror, and say, in a well-measured voice:

"I choose to overlook that snide remark, deeming it an expression of jealousy of my hair." She stares at me, with utter shock and disbelief written on her face.

"I'm not jealous! Why would I be jealous of your hair?" I grab a handful of her hair and study it while sighing gravely. "Remove your filthy fingers from my hair, Sparrow!" she snaps. I let go of the hair, discretely wiping my hand on her shoulder.

"Maybe Handré can make it look less – what's the word?… dreadful?" I suggest in an optimistic voice. Girlie hisses some undistinguishable profanity at me, just as Handré returns with the scissors. I take place in the chair and girly leans against the wall, still pouting. He look at her questioningly, I wave it of and give a conspiratorial wink.

"Don't mind her, she's just jealous. Bad hair, you see." The barber shrugs, and gets to work with the scissors. "How's business these days?" Handré makes a dissatisfied sound, scissors still clicking away.

"Not good, captain Sparrow. There are many soldiers moving from this port to another island. I loose regular customers, bad for busyness." I nod to myself. Soldiers being moved, ey? That could be interesting. I arrange my features in to a sympathetic frown.

"Sorry to hear that mate, I really am. But I guess you're managing?" A hint of a smile flashes over his deeply consecrated face.

"I'll get by, as always."

"I bet you will." He keeps working his magic with my hair, and I study his rough fingers execute delicate tasks with a nimbleness seldom found in men half his age – which is probably, I realise, men my age. I break the silence during his finishing touches. "Any other news, Handré?" He puts away the scissors and solemnly declares:

"I have a message from aunt Mildred. She has returned home after a prolonged garden party. Her cat is ill, and is enjoying sitting on the captain's lap." I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Really now? Well, that _is_ interesting.

"Excellent news, thank you."

I get up from the chair and turn to look at Girlie, who stares at me like I'm a lunatic. She opens her mouth to say something, but is interrupted by tree small children running into the living room while yelling "Abuelo, abuelo!" Handré makes an apologetic gesture, but I wave it off, grinning as the children tugs at the barber's apron.

"You seem to have a new grandchild every time I come to visit, Handré," I say laughingly.

"Yes, soon I'll need a bigger house," he manages to answer, while trying in vain to calm the boisterous children. "I'm sorry, captain Sparrow. I usually tell them a bedtime story at this time of day."

"Don't let me keep you, mate. Maybe while telling tonight story, you could do something with the young lady's - in lack of a better word – hair?" As I predicted, Girlie grumbles, but gets in the chair nonetheless, and Handré gets back to work. The clicking of the scissors making a soothing backdrop for his voice, as he tells the fairytale:

"One upon a time, there lived a boy that could talk to flowers…"

Much later, we are standing in the lamp lit doorway of the barber shop, bellies filled with home made soup and minds filled with stories. Girlies' hair transformed from a messy nest to almost decent looking… Who would have guessed? And most importantly, I have a heading, a destination to sail towards tonight. A wild dream, an airy fantasy becoming more solid for every piece of the puzzle that slots into place. I shake Handré by the hand as we say goodbye. He might have the face of a rotten tomato, but he's one of the best men I know.

Then we head down the dark alleyways together, sheltered from sight by the Caribbean night.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N**

**This is another dialogue-heavy chapter, as I love writing dialogue. It is a vice I am trying to shake, one that probably originates from watching too much television. The next chapters will be more action-focused, as we get deeper into the plot. **

**Thank you and welcome to my new followers, your interest in this story is a great motivation. Also a big thank you to luf100 for a review that truly made my day!**

**Enough with the ramblings, here's chapter eight!**

Chapter eight – Dark sea and fairytales

Back at the ship, we quickly set sail, leaving Palomas Albergan behind. I stand by the rudder, enjoying the silence and the night breeze against my face. Then the implications of said silence strikes me, and I suddenly realise that there have been several hours without any snide remarks on my expense. I regard my only crewmember, which is currently leaning on the railing and seems to be lost in the dark sea that surrounds us. She appears to be dealing with some kind of emotional anguish, which could impair her efficiency, jeopardising our entire undertaking. I probably need to address this before it becomes a problem. Cursing all young girls and their problems, I secure the rudder and approach the railing, clearing my throat.

"You are awfully quiet tonight, love. What's the matter?" She shakes her head and keep staring at the black sea. I pop into the larder for some bottles of rum, knowing she'll talk when I get back. To my experience women always do.

She turns to face me when she hears me closing the door behind me. I offer her one of the bottles, which she accepts, opening it with her teeth and taking a long sip. Must be bad, then… or maybe not as there's really no need for an excuse to drink rum! I take a generous swig myself and look at her expectantly.

"So?"

"It's stupid."

"Probably…" I nod, but motion her to continue. She wrinkles her eyebrows and wraps her arms around her torso, looking a bit lost.

"Sitting in Handré's living room earlier tonight, I realised that I've never heard a fairytale before. Like… properly told by an adult. Isn't that strange?"

"Most peculiar," I answer, unsure where this is going. "And what is the reason for this?"

"I grew up in an orphanage. No one there bothered to tell us any fairytales."

"I can see how that might be upsetting, love, but there is no need to fret about it. My own upbringing wasn't exactly filled with fairytales either, and I turned out fine." I give her my most comforting smile. She rolls her eyes at me again – fifty eight and counting…

"It's not about the fairytales! But listening to them at Handré's house made me realise that I've actually never seen a real family before. I mean… how could I? I grew up in that orphanage, and then I came to Tortuga, which isn't actually child-friendly. I'm almost grown up, and this is my first time getting a glimpse of normal, family-life. I guess it just made me feel a bit… at drift." Again that lost look in her eyes. I decide to lighten the mood, and raise my bottle to a toast.

"To drifting then! Being at sea with no guide but the wind and the tide, free from all that binds us." We clink bottles and drink, but she still looks preoccupied. Damn Handré with his good night stories, making me have to deal with this! We drink in silence for some time while I try to figure out what to say to solve this problem. Girlie ends up as the one breaking the silence.

"Jack?"

"Yes, love?"

"You said there was few fairytales when you grew up, where you also an orphan?" I shake my head.

"No, I lived with my mum and my nana. And my father, the times he saw it fit to drop by."

"Was it good, living there?" I can feel the sad smile on my lips, but don't bother to wipe it away. She has probably guessed anyway, pirates rarely come from perfect families.

"Some was good, and a great deal was not so good. That's life, I guess." I shrug and she nods, we both of us knowing the world for what it is. "You remember your parents, love?" I can se her eyes harden a bit as she answers.

"No, I was found at the stairs of some chapel as a baby, no one knows who my parents were… Probably a whore and some drunken sailor." She gives a small, cynical laugh.

"Well, personally I have a great fondness for whores, and I can say nothing against drunken sailors, being a prime specimen myself," I say with a grin. "For all I know, you could be my child..." My smile fades from my lips, and we both avoid looking at each other in a long, awkward silence, before I add: "But you're not, because any child of mine would have been a whole lot prettier than you."

"Very clever, Sparrow!" She chucks her rum bottle in my general direction, her bad aim probably correlating with the bottle being empty. There's an annoyed frown on her face, but she can't fully hide the amused glint in her eyes. Then she laughs, and this time the laughter is genuine.

"I'm quite pleased with being an orphan if you're the alternative. Thank you for reminding me things could be a lot worse." I empty my bottle and give a crocked grin.

"You know me, Girlie. Can't help helping people, that's who I am."

"I thought you were all about treasures and adventure and really great hair. You said that yesterday." I point my finger at her and nod enthusiastically.

"Yes! That what you just said! That… and helping. And don't leave out the stuff with the sea and the freedom, that's great poetry, that is! And then there's of course the occasional bottle of rum. Add all that – the adventure, the helping, the sea and the rum – and you get me, captain Jack Sparrow." She laughs and rolls her eyes yet again - fifty-nine.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N**

**Looong chapter ahead, be prepared! **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, but would really like to.**

Chapter nine – "Poke it and see what pokes back" 

We arrive in Tortuga in the afternoon, and Jack immediately announces the need for a drink in a civilized environment. Despite my doubts concerning the existence of anything remotely civilized in Tortuga, I follow him to a wind-warped wooden building by the docks.

The sign outside proclaims the tavern's name to be "The Captain's Lap", which makes it probable that the man approaching us is - despite appearances – aunt Mildred. Stupid pirates with their codes… I think to myself, watching as the two men exchange greetings and shoulder-pats. Then Jack turns to me, suddenly reminded of my existence.

"Girlie, this is my old friend Joshamee Gibbs. We met under curious circumstances," Jack announces, with what he probably believes is a worldly gesture.

"You met at a bar fight." Both men look at me, a bit taken aback. Jack wrinkles his nose with discontent.

"It appears to me that I tell you way too much when I'm drunk, Girlie." He waves the issue away, again turning to his friend. "I've acquired the map in question. Any progress at your end, master Gibbs?"

"Aye, there's been progress," he nods, looking around the tavern, giving each of us a conspiratorial look. Then he signals us to take place at his table and continues in a hushed voice: "I've obtained information of the whereabouts of the key to finding the treasure," he declares triumphantly. Jack looks at him, clearly not following.

"Yes…? Which is…?"

"The key."

"The key? Which key, in particular?" Jack wriggles his fingers impatiently in front of Gibbs, nearly knocking over his pint. Gibbs secures the drink with both hands and takes a sip from it, before explaining in an overly clear manner:

"The key _which opens the treasure chest_ allegedly _is _the key, figuratively speaking, _to locating_ said treasure chest. In a manner, _the key is the key_." He gives a small snigger. Jack and I both stare at him like he'd just performed a belly dance. After a long pause, Jack manages to pull himself together and continue the conversation.

"Very well then, and are there any news concerning the _other matter_ at hand?" Gibbs' answer is interrupted as I insert myself back into the conversation.

"Which _other matter?_" I eye the two pirates suspiciously as they exchange glances, wordlessly debating how much to tell me. In the end, Jack shrugs and gives Gibbs a look saying 'she'll-find-out-anyway-so-we-might-as-well-tell-her', receiving a nod in return. Then he starts talking, in a low voice laced with eagerness:

"You know the treasure we're stealing, love…"

"Yes, the treasure of Cordumer. A lost treasure of tremendous value, including a chest of coins of which the only retrieved coin-piece is currently… in my possession." I suppress the memory of my last stay in Tortuga, and how I happened to acquire that coin, leading me to team up with Jack.

"Well, as it happened, the treasure of Cordumer is not the exact target of this enterprise, it is more of a means to the real purpose of our great undertaking." He pauses and fumbles for word, then continuing in his typical, blabbering style: "You see, a couple of years back, I had an… incident with a cursed treasure. Nasty piece of business – blood sacrifices, blacksmiths, un-dead monkeys and suchlike..." He shudders at the memory. "Anyway, after the dust had settled and the scars healed, it suddenly hit me: How brilliant it would be to be the one _controlling_ a cursed treasure! I'd only have to con some poor sod into taking the treasure, and he'd bee at my mercy."

I turn the idea over in my head, it does make sense in some deranged way, but it just doesn't seem practical.

"And you just suppose there's cursed treasures laying about, all ready with a curse of an appropriate nature for you to use in your scheme?" I ask with poorly hidden sarcasm. Jack, who either ignores this or is too caught up in his own genius to notice, just continues describing his master plan.

"That's the brilliant part, Girlie: I'll _make _a cursed treasure! The exact nature of said curse a subject of my personal design."

Very well," I say, unimpressed. "And how, exactly, do you plan to do the actual cursing? I guess step one is acquiring the treasure – the lost treasure of Cordumer, I assume. And then?" Jack makes a dismissive hand gesture.

"Then there's some other…formalities… concerning the actual cursing, so to speak. Mostly mystic mumbling. Not so difficult. If those ancient buggers managed it, so will I. But there's the need of a certain type artefact, which is, as you put it, _the other matter._" He turn to the man sitting opposite us, just finishing his pint. "Gibbs, you besotted old mutt, would you care to enlighten us?" The man in question wipes beer of his chin and clears his throat.

"So, I picked up this rumour back in the "Moose" a couple of nights ago, about a man providing certain items…

* * *

I take a deep breath as we enter "The Mangled Moose," savouring the smell of stale beer, mouldy woodwork and unwashed sailors. God, I've missed this! I nod my head to the music from the scruffy looking band in the corner, barely audible over the clamour of the bar's drunken clientele. The best way there is to enjoy music! Girlie is walking besides me with a discontent frown on her face, apparently not enjoying herself as much as I am. She grabs my arm and stands on her toes, her lips by my ear, as she has to yell to drown out the noise of our surroundings.

"What do we do now?" I grin at her and hunch down, talking loudly into her ear.

"We poke around and sees what pokes back. Keep a lookout for anyone acting… interesting." She gives me a confused look. Well, I couldn't have said 'acting strange', as there is currently a man dancing at a table wearing nothing at all but a woman's hat. Her eyes move from mine and onto the dancing man, and then she nods understandingly. "Of to work!" I brightly exclaim as I shoo her away and head for the counter.

"Barkeep!" I signal the ogre that apparently passes as the publican of this establishment. He gives me a glare of uttermost stupidity.

"Huh?!"

"I'll have a pint and any stolen religious artefacts that you might have lying about."

He answers with an unintelligible grunt, passing me some brown gunk in a visibly dirty mug. I sniff it sceptically before leaving it untouched at the counter, moving deeper into the locale. Time to do some proper investigating!

* * *

I move trough the clusters of bickering, clambering, beer-quaffing sailors, doing my best to stay unnoticed. There's a gnawing in my stomach that intensifies every time I meet anyone's gaze. I've spent too many nights in places like this, with drunken buffoons eying me hungrily… I interrupt the stream of memories pouring into my mind, time to focus on the task! I scan the surroundings for any _interesting behaviour_, as my good captain put it, but there's really little going on of that sort that can't be attributed to excessive drinking. How does Jack think we'll be able to learn anything in this commotion? And what the hell did he mean by 'poke around'? Where is he, anyway? I look around for him, and to my horror I see him standing on a table, loudly banging two mugs together.

"Hear yey, hear yey!" he bellows. The buzz in the bar dies down, as attention is turned to the man on the table. "I'm looking for anyone offering religious relics for sale. No questions asked about how they were stolen – err… _obtained._" The crowd is unresponsive, noise level rising as people starts to turn away.

"How about you, mate?!" Jack points to a shady-looking man, standing to his left. "You look like the man that would sell his own mum for the right price." I shake my head and wince as the man thrust a knife at Jack, who, clearly anticipating this kind of reaction, ducks and draw his sword. Three men, apparently associates of the shady man, circle the table, preparing to attack. Jack makes a strange pirouette, kicking the mugs standing on the table, turning them into projectiles that hit the attackers in the face. I am watching wide-eyed, as I'm aware of whispering conversation to my left: A scrawny, black clad man is giving some sort of instructions to a barmaid. I hear the twinkling of coins before I see the man sneak trough the shadows, towards the back door. _That's interesting…_ I discretely follows him trough the door, the last thing I see before it closes behind me is the men attacking the table, and Jack jumping off, making a grab for the chandelier.

* * *

As I anticipated, the quarrels with the easily offended man and his chums escalated into a full-blown bar fight. This was part of my plan all along – people are easier to search when they're knocked unconscious, and I prefer for others to do the knocking. I navigate the mayhem, scanning the floor for anything interesting-looking, simultaneously dodging thrown mugs and parrying sword blows.

Suddenly, I find myself cornered by a group of drunken brutes with trouble written all over them. They draw their weapons – a variation of rusty, but probably nauseatingly efficient knives.

"Let's just talk about this like gentlemen," I suggest, making a conciliatory gesture. Of course it won't work, but I need to keep them from attacking until I come up with a plan.

"No gentlemen here, mate," the ugliest brute sniggers as they close in on me. I gulp and back away, looking around desperately for help. One of the baboons makes a lunge for me, flaring a straight razor. I recoil and am surprised as my back bumps into something firm and fury. What the hell? A brief glance reveals that I've backed in to the stuffed moose that stands on a small platform in the middle of the room, giving the bar its name. An idea pops into my mind. It's a bit on the odd side, but it _might _work… I hunch down, dodging another attack, simultaneously grabbing one of the moose's feet, pulling it at full strength. As I hoped, the top-heavy stuffed animal starts tipping, falls over and smashes down on my attackers, covering them with several hundred pounds of stuffed moose. I nod to myself, feeling quite pleased. Not a bad manoeuvre, not bad indeed!

Soon the commotion dies down, as everyone is too dead, too unconscious or too thirsty to keep fighting. I lean against the wall, catching my breath. A rather pretty young waitress comes up to me with a pint of beer – proper beer, that is. Nothing like that terrible sewer rectitude the ogre got me.

"For you, Captain Sparrow. It's on the house," the waitress says in a bright voice, smiling at me. That's more like it! Captain Jack Sparrow, finally getting the recognition he deserves. I take the pint from her, raising my glass.

"Cheers, sweetheart!" Then I take a large swig, understanding instantly that I just made a bad decision, as the world starts swirling in rather an unpleasant way.

* * *

The night air smells of sea, barbequed meat and garbage, a nice change from the bar's selection of odours. There is a hint of fog, but I can still make out the figure of the black clad man shambling down the alley. He is constantly looking over his shoulder, making it a nerve-wrecking experience to shadow him. At last he stops at a decrepit shack at the end of the road and knocks on the door in a strange rhythm. As the door is opened, the lamplight from the doorway falls on his face, allowing me to see it properly for the first time. A chill runs trough my body as I recognise those features, and I feel my stomach turn. Damn and blast! The door closes behind him and I turn back to the bar, dreading the piece of explaining I'll have to do.

To my surprise, Jack meets me in the door back at "The mangled moose", or to put it more accurately: he is thrown out as I'm about to enter. He supports himself against the doorframe, wearing a cross-eyed grin.

"Girlie!" he exclaims. "How nice of you to stop by!"

"What are you doing outside?" I ask, wondering how anyone can manage to get so stinking drunk in such a short time.

"Got thrown out. They didn't like my juggling, the barbarians!" He scoffs at the bar, almost falling over. "Let's leave and never come back, don't-you-think?!" A new brilliant smile, then he places an arm over my shoulders, steadying himself as we stumble down the alleys. His babblings becomes increasingly more incoherent and he is leaning heavily on me, making me realize that he'll not make it back to "The Captain's Lap." We stagger along until I find a fitting alley. Then I dump the nearly unconscious pirate in the middle of a small heap of rubble.

"Yes to the stockings, but a definite no to the marmalade…" he murmurs, before drifting off. I shrug and cover him with pieces of garbage, before I go to summon the reinforcements.

About twenty minutes later, Gibbs and I are standing in the alley, regarding our sad excuse for a captain snoring away in the pile of rubbish. I turn to my only conscious associate.

"Think you can wake him up?" Gibbs prods the sleeping figure with his boot, resulting in a series of discontent grunts.

"Aye," he answers. "But you might want to turn away, I learned this in Singapore."

I take his advice and turn, hearing a loud shriek behind me. When I turn back around Jack is sitting up, rubbing his head.

"I appears to me…" he says, before we have time to ask him anything, "that they poked back harder than anticipated."


	10. Chapter 10

**It's Monday, have a chapter! It's a small chapter – think of it as a dessert to the steak-dinner of chapter nine. Mmmm, dessert! **

**Most importantly: I'd like to welcome my new followers, your interest in this story is very motivating and deeply flattering! **

**Then: I'd really like some feedback on how you are experiencing the story so far. Are there any special situations you want we to write? How do you feel about the focus of the story – is there an okay balance between personal stuff and action? Is the phase too slow? Too fast? Please let me know, I'm really interested in your thoughts, so feel free to review or PM me! **

**Warning/spoiler/teaser (depends on you disposition): This chapter contains mentions of implied prostitution, although nothing graphical. Be… warned, I guess. **

Chapter ten – Silver lining

I take a sip of my drink, listening to Jack who is still complaining about his headache. I sigh, he's been at it since we got back to 'The Captain's lap'. It's starting to get more than a bit annoying.

"I don't know what it was they slipped in my drink, but it was some nasty stuff!" he huffs and rubs his head. Behind him, I can see Gibbs roll his eyes, clearly also getting enough of the complaining.

"Are you sure it's not just you not being able to hold your drink?" he asks. Jack gasps, looking genuinely shocked.

"I object to this slander! I was poisoned, most viciously!" He glares at Gibbs, who looks back sceptically.

"He actually was," I confirm. "Before I left, I saw a man talking to the waitress, paying her off. He's a priest – a dodgy one - that probably knows a lot about stolen relics. Your _investigative methods_ must have spooked him, so he drugged you to make sure you wouldn't ask any more questions." Jack nods.

"Priests! There's no trusting them," he says darkly. "Shady fellows the lot of them. I knew a priest once that…" Then he furrows his brows. "I didn't see anyone dressed as a priest at the bar."

I curse mentally, but I knew I would have to explain this at some point, might just get it over with.

"He wasn't dressed as a priest."

"Then how did you know his profession, Girlie? If you don't mind me asking?" There's a glint of suspicion in Jack's eyes. I draw my breath. Well, here it goes…

"I knew because I know him. We meet here, in Tortuga. He was a customer at an… _establishment_ where I was occasionally engaged." I look him straight in the eyes, refusing to blush or feel any shame. I did what I had to do. My two accomplices exchange glances, but say nothing about the matter, in stead Gibbs exclaims:

"Then we'll get the relic by the means of the blackest of mail!" Both Jack and I stare at him with dead eyes. "I talk of blackmail," he explains. "Churchly fellow like him probably don't want it to be known…"

"Yes, mate, we sort of figured," Jack interjects. "And we'll have that as a plan B, in case all goes south, but for now we'll stick with Girlie robbing him blind as we keep him busy, savvy?"

We both nod.

"Probably best," Gibbs says.

"Definitely," I mumble.

* * *

I watch Girlie sharpen my knives, considering the new information about her former… _occupation_. I'm not really surprised, as I had a slight suspicion. It is hard to imagine anyone making it as a pickpocket in Tortuga, as half of the islands economy consists of buttons, belt buckles and IOUs. There simply isn't enough to steal. And there are plenty of _establishments_ offering a girl a reliable income. It's an understandable decision, but she must have been so young… I catch myself wondering how old she really is – a question I doubt she has the exact answer to – but dismiss the thought. We were all too young: At her age, Gibbs was already in the navy, learning to kill people, and I was educating myself at sea, learning harsh life-lessons every day.

Girly holds my favourite knife up to the candle, watching the way the light glints of the steel with an appreciating little smile, I can't help smiling too, although with a bittersweet feeling. We were all too young, but hell, what can we do about it? Use it as blackmail-material, apparently. Talk about silver lining… But we'll try stealing the relics before possibly trying any alternative approaches: First we steal, then we blackmail, and if all fails, I guess we just run away bloody fast. I wince as Girly accidentally drops one of my knives, which hits the cobbles with a loud clang. Damn, my head hurts!


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N**

**I'm splitting one huge chapter into two medium ones, so the second part of this segment should be ready in a few days. In the meantime, here's part one!**

Chapter eleven – Working for our food 

I drag my feet as we walk towards the house of the dodgy priest, my heart sinking for every step.

"Maybe we should wait until he goes out?" I suggest, receiving an unconcerned "meh" from Jack.

"Maybe he is out right now." I say, hopefully, mostly to myself. "He could be out drinking, or selling relics, or maybe he's at the brothel…" my voice dies down, as I yet again have to fight back the impulse to blush.

"You could have said, you know," Jack says, walking besides me. "As I said earlier, I have nothing against prostitutes," he looks at me with a look of openness on his face that I actually find comforting. Sometimes it is nice to talk to someone too jaded to be shocked by anything.

"I know. I guess I was ashamed. It was something I did to survive, but really wish I didn't had to."

"I'm the last to judge, love," he says with a melancholic smile. "We all have to work for our food." He pats me on the shoulder in a distracted manner, and turns to Gibbs to discuss the last details of the plan.

I consider his words, and it strikes me that I can't actually remember not working for my food. At the orphanage we were sat to make rugs as soon as we could tie a knot. One of me earliest memories is how I struggled to keep my blistered fingers from bleeding on the fabric. Then, when we grew strong enough, they sent us to the mines, dark holes of fear and hardship. Days and days without seeing the sun, followed by brief days of slaving away in the boiling heat, packaging the spoil into carts to be sent to the shore for dumping. I soon realised that there was some sort of exchange of kids, as the older workers tended to disappear, and for some time I believed that the children were set free when they grew to big to fit in the mine's narrow tunnels. Then I saw the ship:

I had started to cough from the dust in the mines. Some time ago that would have meant that I would end up dying from choking, but the management had recently discovered that a few weeks away from the mines cleared the cough, allowing us to keep working. So now I was above ground, pulling the cart of spoil to the shore. As we reached the dumpsite, I saw a big ship with wide, white sails docked by the pier. There was a line of people boarding the ship. The were dirty, and dragged their feet in a shambling rhythm suggesting exhaustion, but even then, there was something bizarre with the twitching motion. Straining my eyes, I discovered the cause of this: They were all chained together by clamps on their feet, creating a long, consecutive line of prisoners, that had to move as one to progress. I also discovered something else, that I probably had known deep down all along, but refused to face: I knew this people, they were all older kids from the orphanage, and they didn't look like they would be free anytime soon.

I was nauseous and dizzy, but above all, I was really, really angry. I was angry with my parents for abandoning a newborn baby to a life of slavery, I was angry with the management of the orphanage for exploiting innocent children, and I was angry with my self, for ever believing things were going to get better. But I'd had enough, and I knew that somehow, I would have to escape before I too ended up as a chained zombie on the ship in front of me. And I did. Which lead me to the godless cesspit that is Tortuga - and, after weeks of more or less futile thieving and increasing hunger - to the door of one of the least grubby brothels. Yes, I felt defeated when I walked in, having escaped slavery only to be selling myself all the same, but at least this way I was the one getting paid. Sometimes small victories is all you can get.

I sigh and push the memories of the past back to their dusty corner of my mind. We are standing in an ally by the house I saw the black-clad priest enter earlier that night. After some scouting of the area, we have decided on a tactic Julius Caesar himself couldn't hold a candle to: I'll climb up the stairs at the backside of the building and sneak trough a window, while my two accomplices knocks on the door, keeping the inhabitant occupied. I shiver in the darkness, both out of cold and fear. The prospect of entering the shabby building makes me more than a little nervous, and so does the possibility of meeting an old customer.

Jack is back by my side, and we approach the house, a cold, gnawing feeling growing in my stomach for every step. I can feel my breath quicken from nervousness, and I guess Jack hears it, because he bends down a little and studies me.

"Scared, Girlie?"

"No," I lie.

"Glad to hear it. Then get on with the thieving!" he whispers in a bright manner. I say nothing, the claw of fear digging deeper into my guts. Then I reach down to his belt, at the same time pretending to trip and bump into him.

"Watch the goods, love," he smirks.

"Sorry," I mumble, while swiping his gun. Then I head around the corner to the stairs, somewhat reassured by the weight of the weapon in my dress-pocket.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N**

**Here's second part of the incident, as promised. I'd like to welcome and thank all new followers, I'm always excited by messages about new followers and favourites, and it really motivates my writing, so thank you for that!**

**And now, onwards! **

Chapter twelve – Stolen guns and fingernails 

I watch our designated thief disappears around the corner. She did look rather terrified, which isn't necessarily a bad sign, I've done some of my finest work while being scared witless. Smiling from nostalgic memories of me running for my miserable life, I turn to my second in command.

"Ready, Gibbs?" He gives me a flustered look, and mutters something inaudible. Damn, why does there always have to be problems? "What?" I ask flatly.

"You sure this is wise, Jack, stealin' holy items from a priest? Might be a bit risky to anger the old…_providence._" He raises a finger, indicating the sky. I sigh.

"So it might be, but remember that we are taking the relics for a priest who stole them from a church in the first place. In a manner, we are merely _recovering _them." I wriggle my eyebrows at him as a light of understanding is lit in his usually dim gaze.

"Aye, that is practically a good deed, that is…" he grins, I nod. Now that's all sorted, time to get on with this enterprise.

"And now, master Gibbs, if you would be so good..." I indicate the door in a swooping hand gesture, and he waddles to the door and knock heavily on it, the echo of the sound booming trough the alley. We wait, eying the door with upmost suspense. Nothing. I frown and walk up to the door and kick it several times, while belting out:

"Heloooo?! Anybody home!" My efforts are rewarded with yelling from most of the alley's open windows - most of them being rather creative suggestions of what to do with myself – but the door stays shut. Damn! Well, let's get inventive then.

"We might need a cover story," Gibbs whisper. I nod, well obviously… but what? Who would everyone open the door for?

"Maybe we can say we're collecting the night soil?" I suggest, receiving a doubtful look from my accomplice. Right, who in Tortuga would pay to get rid of night soil when they can easily empty their pisspot out the window… Something else then. It appears to me that I might be approaching this all wrong. Now, as a shady priest selling stolen religious artefacts, who would you really not have standing outside your door, attracting attention? I draw a deep breath and yell on top of my lungs.

"Are you in there, padre? I've got some fresh deliveries, straight from a monastery. I've got crosses and rosaries and…" I'm cut short, as the door snaps open and a small man with weasel-like features appears.

"Shut your trap, you idiot! You're alerting the whole street," he hisses. I give him my famous five-pints-stare and sway for effect, before slurring:

"Got some fine specimens, padre. Real saint's teeth they are." The man in the doorway considers us with a sceptical glare.

"Haven't seen you men before," he growls. I send him a brilliant smile.

"We're quite new to the business, you see." He turns to Gibbs, who just stepped into some unidentifiable goo by the doorstep, and is currently failing at scraping it off his boots. My smile wavers just a bit, as I meet the sour stare of the priest. "It's his first day."

* * *

The second I see the door open, I climb the stairs at the back of the building, leading me to the window I plan on entering. I was prepared to try to break the window with a half-brick I picked up by the bottom of the stairs, but as it turns out, someone had beaten me to it. Reaching trough the remaining glass shards, careful not to cut myself, I unhook the window's handle and open it. Then I climb inside, my heart pounding.

The room I find myself in is lit by a single candle, standing on a shabby table, which is, along with a frail-looking wooden chair, the only furniture in the room. The floor is littered with heaps of small packages I assume is stolen goods. _Let's get on with the thieving… _I rummage trough them, but can only find minor items – crucifixes, icon paintings, candelabras – standard items from churches and monasteries. They might be worth some money on the black marked, but what we are looking for is a bit more… _eclectic._ The kind of item Jack wants is probably worth more than the loot in this room combined. Something like that, you don't leave lying about, you'll want to keep it close.

I enter the next room, my ears highly alert for any sound indicating that there are more people in the house. From downstairs I can hear muffled conversation between the priest and Jack. I sincerely hope he'll be able to keep him occupied long enough, but knowing Jack, to _keep_ talking will not be a problem for him.

The room is pitch black, making it impossible to make out anything except the outline of a bed in a corner, and I curse as I trip over something on the floor, making an – in my ears – deafeningly loud scraping noise. My chest feels like it is going to explode and my hart races sickeningly as I hold my breath, listening out for anyone coming racing up the stairs to brutally murder me. Nothing. Assuming I wont be so lucky next time, I get the candle from the other room and close the door to the stairway, to avoid any revealing light or sounds. Then I start searching to room, a task that would have been so much easier if I'd known what I was looking for. Bloody Jack with his vagueness!

* * *

"And where are this fine specimens you talked of?" the ugly little priest asks, still eying us with all signs of distrust. Damn! Seems like he's not buying it, but captain Jack Sparrow has never failed to sell a con.

"Of course we're not carrying the relics _on us_!" I exclaim, putting up my most shocked expression to wipe the sceptic look of the priest's weasel-face. "This is priceless holy artefacts we're talking about, mate – err, _padre._"

"Then piss off and stop wasting my time. I never buy unseen items." He frowns and motions away from the door.

"Wait!" I yell, frantically trying to conjure up a story in a matter of seconds. I look around for inspiration, but the only thing occupying the alleyway is my sorry excuse for an accomplice. Well, got to work with what you've got…

"Show him the flask, Gibbs." Confusion flashes trough his eyes, but he unfasten his grubby flask from his belt and hands it over to me. I grab it, at the same time rubbing it discretely in a futile attempt to improve its miserable appearance. "This," I announce, while dangling the flask in front of the priest just fast enough to keep him from examining it properly, - "is the flask of the holy St. Joshamee. He used it while being lost in the dessert for fifty-seven years." I look him in the eyes defiantly. Come on, mate, dare to question me! He considers this information, struggling to get a good look at the flask I swing back and forth at a rather impressive speed.

"Does it have any magical qualities?" he asks.

"It cures athletes foot," Gibbs says, grinning.

"And other various skin-conditions," I shoot in, glaring at my colleague. It looks like the priest's scepticisms is finally wearing off, as he takes a step in our direction.

"And what…" he's cut short by a savage roar coming from somewhere behind us.

"Sparrow!" I turn and recognise the merry bunch from the bar earlier tonight storming towards us in a mess of waving fists and drawn swords. _Oh bugger…_

* * *

Looking around in the now candle-lit room, my eyes fall on a crate standing by the bed. It is filled by what appears to be rolls of filthy cloth. Promising… I pick one up, carefully unrolling it in my hand. There's something inside. On first sight I believe it to be sawdust, but they look more frail and see-trough. Then I realise, and my stomach makes a contraction, _fingernails. _Yuk! Probably belonged to some saint, but it's still pretty disgusting. I close the fabric around its… _precious content_ and lay it on a bed, taking another roll from the crate. This one I don't have to open, as I can feel the content trough the fabric. Bones. This better be good enough for Jack. I slip what I prefer to think of as _the roll of fabric_ into my dress-pocket, and freeze as the door opens behind me. It feels like my heart just dropped trough the floor when I stare straight into the menacing glare of my old customer.

"What is seven hells are you doing here?" the priest growls. I'm completely frozen, my hand still in my pocked, clasped hard around the roll of cloth. His eyes darkens, I really need to say something.

"Just looking for a dry place to spend the night, mister." My voice barely wavers, but my legs feel like they're about to give out. The priest approaches me, a strained look on his face. _Please, please don't recognize me! _I try to recall his average level of drunkenness when he used to come see me.

"I know you," he snarls. "You're that little whore from Old Sandy's"

My heart sinks even lower – it must be at basement-levels by now – Damn and blast, why is it that they are never ever drunk enough?

"I said: What are you doing here, whore?" He steps closer, taking predator-like, gliding steps, then his eyes falls on the cloth-ball on the bed, and he lets out a furious growl: "Filthy thief! I'll teach you to steal from me!" In a few quick strides, he's in front of me, grabbing me by the shoulder and slamming me hard into the wall behind, raising one hand, fist closed for the punch. I know I need to attempt to block it, but I'm completely stunned, my left arm just hangs limp by my side, and my right hand is still in my pocket. Suddenly I'm aware of something hard pressing against my fist. Jack's gun. The world turns blurry around me, and the priest slumps forward before I even register that I've pulled the trigger.

* * *

Luckily, the alley is really narrow. It doesn't help to be superior in numbers when there's only room to fight one on one. Gibbs is currently engaged in a battle of mixed weapons with a greasy-haired youngster. The rest of our heavily intoxicated attackers are mostly entreating themselves with internal fights, except for the one that is approaching me, sword drawn.

I recognise my opponent as the easily offended fellow from earlier. Sadly, the falling moose doesn't seem to have had much of an impact on him physically, as he is now waving his blade about in what he must believe to be a demonstration of masterly swordsmanship.

"I'll gut you, Sparrow!" he announces, making another ridiculous flaring-motion with the sword. Rolling my eyes, I reach for my gun, as the stylish reaction to his silliness would be to just shoot him, but my fist closes around air. The images of Girlie bumping into me, and the almost unnoticeable lightness in my belt flashes past my mind's eye. Damn thieving brat! That's what I get for associating with bloody pickpockets! Well, at least she left my sword alone. I pull it and am about to dispose of the ill tempered bastard, but decide to go for a different approach, as I spot a stack of barrels in the corner of my eye. In a swift motion, I twirl around, cutting the ropes that secures the barrels. Then I just stand still, enjoying it as the rolling barrels knock over all the merry men from "The Moose."

Well, that's that sorted, then. I smirk triumphantly at Gibbs, who managed to dodge the boisterous barrels, having previous experience with this manoeuvre. His expression, however, lacks the expected enthusiasm.

"Jack…" he says, tilting his head, indicating the doorway. I look over and wince, the doorway is empty, damn it! I hope like hell that Girlie has gotten out of the house with our loot. Then there is a loud bang coming from inside the house. A gunshot. I scale the stairs, taking two steps at a time, while at the same time keeping an eye out for enemies, but the house sound menacingly quiet.

The door at the to of the stairs are slightly ajar. I push it open and see Girlie standing over a person lying on the floor, holding my gun down by her side, which makes it rather obvious what's been going on. I carefully approach her, trying to capture her glassy stare. Only when I'm by her side and put a light hand on her shoulder, she acknowledges my presence. She looks up at me, eyes still wide from fear. I can feel her body shaking under my hand, her breath is coming quickly and strained.

"I-I messed up, Jack," she manages to whisper. I look from her pale face to the man on the floor, and the growing puddle of blood leaking from him.

"I see," I say quietly, carefully taking the gun from her unresisting hand, before I gently lead her towards the door. "Come on, love. We need to get out of here."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N**

**A small interlude between all the action, enjoy! As always, thanks to all my followers, you are a great motivation. I'd also like to encourage my readers to leave a review, to let me know what you think about this story so far.**

**Ps! I'm staring to regret my chapter-naming-praxis, as all numbers over twelve is crazy difficult to write in English.**

**Disclaimer: If I wrote an unlicensed Pirate of the Caribbean story, would it then be a "pirate-pirate story?" Heh, heh, heh… *sigh* I'm sorry, guys, it's late. **

**Let's just pretend that never happened and get on with the story: **

Chapter thirteen – After-effects 

I don't what I expected, but this isn't it.

Girlie followed me all the way back to the ship without saying a word, her motions slow and imprecise, like she was in a daze. I didn't think much of it, after all, she had just shot a man close range, a little shock is only natural. But then, after we got onboard, she seemed to snap out of the trance, life returning to her eyes again. Having seen my fair share of life's less pretty sides, I knew that when the haze clears, it really starts to hurt. I was prepared for panic attacks, crying, the occasional vomit or outburst of anger, I have even seen people come out of shock to laugh uncontrollably for minutes. She, however, just _resumed_. Coming out of her dazed state, she snapped back to where she had been emotionally before this whole incident, and started asking about our next destination while doing minor tasks on the ship.

As I said, I didn't expect this.

"Why didn't Gibbs come with us on the boat?" Her tone is conversational and her voice neutral.

"He has things to take care of."

"Such as?"

"It's all part of the plan, you'll understand eventually."

"I don't understand why you can't just tell me the whole plan, in stead of giving it piece by piece," she complains, untangling some ropes in an effortless manner.

"Easier to deny knowledge if you actually don't know," I answer mostly on auto-pilot, my mind busy with assessing this situation: It is practical, not having to deal with any _after effects _of the shooting_, _on the other hand, I'm not sure I'll sleep well alone on a boat with a cold-hearted killer. Is it even safe for me to be out here with her? It strikes me that I know nothing about her past that she hasn't told me herself, she could be a highly trained child-assassin for all I know, or a bloodthirsty maniac. Shuddering a bit, I decide that there's no harm in making some small inquiries.

"Girlie…" I say tentatively. "About what happened earlier with you and that priest…"

"What about it?" She looks at me expectantly, her eyes reviling little emotion.

"How do you, err, _feel_ about that?" After spending some time considering this, she answers, her features still neutral.

"I'm a bit shaken up, of course, it was kind of… it wasn't fun," she lamely finish after a futile search for a more accurate description. "But I'm doing just fine. I'm just looking forward to getting away from this godforsaken island." Then she turns and gets on with her work, but not before I see the small flash of sorrow in her eyes. Not doing so fine then. In a way I'm relived. Well, sort of, as this speaks against her being a trained killer - or a lunatic. It's the small things, isn't it?

We have been sailing trough twilight and dawn, and are well on our way to our destination, so I deem it time to get some sleep and cast anchor in a small bay.

"Better get our heads down a couple of hours, love." I tell Girlie. "Big night ahead." She nods, and we proceed to the ship's only cabin, where we both sleep. Hardly appropriate, I know, but neither of us cares to address this, as both our claims to the cabin is debatable: I have the right in form of being captain, she has the right being of the female persuasion, so it's hard to say who'll end up sleeping in the mouldy pantry. We never discussed this, of course, but with both of us being calculating, cunning bastards, we realised there was no safe bets, and just shut up and shared.

I dump down on the cabin's sole bed, which I claimed on reason of being, after all, captain. Girlie is sitting in her makeshift nest of blankets and other various textiles found on the ship. In the big heap of fabrics, she looks small and way younger than usual. There's a frightened look in her eyes that I recognize, as I am also scared of falling asleep sometimes, knowing what probably awaits me in my dreams.

"Get some sleep, love," I say in a soft voice. She untangles the blankets and lay down hesitantly.

"I'm not that tired," she states, her weak voice proving that statement false. "Maybe I'll be on watch now and rest later. It's a bit irresponsible to leave the ship unguarded." I wave her off, motioning her to stay put.

"Not to worry." I say with great conviction. "Were safe here in the shallows." She looks at me and I interpret the doubt in her eyes as having little to do with my previous statement, so I get some rum from the cupboard to help her sleep. Considering our last solid meal was many hours ago, I also pick up two bananas and toss them to her.

"Here you go, love. This will make it all better," I state with a confidence that isn't quite genuine. There are things in life – believe it or not – that cannot be fixed by rum and bananas. Still, it's a good start.

* * *

I catch the yellow fruits that Jack toss in my direction and start peeling one. Probably wise to eat that before starting on the bottle of rum. How typical of Jack to suggest that solution! Still, I am rather touched by his care, no one has ever bothered much about me before. Having someone even slightly concerned about my – if not exactly wellbeing, then at least alive-being – is quite overwhelming. I must be careful, or I might actually start trusting the bastard. There is a real risk of it: We have spent a lot of time together over the last few days, and it is sort of nice not being all alone. Also, I kind of like him, of course he is a nuisance most of the time, and he is really vain and quite unreliable, but he's also funny and sometimes almost nice. There's even times when we talk about something and he looks at me like he actually gives a crap. Still, I must remember that he is an unscrupulous trickster that would sell his mum for the right price, and quite possibly did. He cares about me because he needs me for his plan, when I've played my part he might loose interest.

But for now he got me rum and bananas. With a small smile, I take a swig from the bottle and lye down in my heap of blankets. From across the room, I hear the characteristic sound of another bottle being opened, and after some time, the clank as the good captain drops it to the floor. _To sweet dreams, _I silently toast, and take yet another swig before closing my eyes and drifting off to the deep, dark ocean of sleep. 


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N **

**Hi, I'm back! I've had a small writers block, but it's overcome now. Also, while I was gone, I've written bits of the next chapters, so they should come along fairly quickly. So see you in-hopefully-not-as-long-as-last-time!**

Chapter fourteen – Up-river 

I'm awoken from blissful oblivion by distressed murmuring. I rise from my tangled nest of blankets and look around in the grey light of dusk. Turning to the source of the noise, I se Jack turning uncomfortably in his bed. His eyes are tightly shut, his jaw clenched, I can see the muscles in his arms strain under the worn fabric of his shirt. The mumbling becomes more intense, although it's incomprehensible I get the basic message: fear.

"Jack…" I say, touching his arm lightly, as he doesn't respond. "Jack, you need to wake up, you're having a ni-" I gasp as he jolts awake, grabbing my wrist hard. He looks at me with wide, startled eyes, then relaxes and lets go of my arm when he recognizes our surroundings.

"Sorry," he says in a groggy voice when he sees me rub my wrist. "You all right, Girlie?"

I nod, a tad reproachfully. "Yes, are you?" He gives me a half-smile, but there's some darkness to it.

"I'm fine, love. Just playing with my beasties, I'm sure you understand." I do understand, he knows I do. When I'm awoken by my own dreams, he's often still up, I guess now I know why.

"Monsters don't sleep under your bed, they sleep inside your head," I mumble to myself. Jack looks at me, clearly bemused.

"What was that, again, love?"

"Oh, just something the nuns at the orphanage used to tell us when we were little and got scared from bad dreams." He appears to consider this for some time, then he raises a finger and draws his breath, only to let the finger fall and let out the breath again. After another period of silent contemplation, he finally concludes:

"Well, that's just rather unsettling." He proceeds to make a remark about nuns, which I don't quite catch as he is also proceeding out of the cabin's door. Still I get the general content, which is probably enough.

I put on my jacket and untangle myself from my - in the widest sense of the word – bed, and follow my captain. He is standing by the rudder engulfed by the combined activities of eying his compass and fidgeting with his hair. When aware of my presence, he straitens up, assuming a captainly attitude, only slightly impaired by his hair blowing into his face. He brushes it away and throws out his arms.

"Lift anchor!" he announces with fearful joy. "We're heading up-river!"

"Why?" I ask, while hoisting the anchor. "What's up-river?"

"It's rather a 'who' than a 'what', Girlie, although I'm sure that could be discussed." He grins, seemingly from some private joke of his. I could just wait and see, but I'm tired of being under-informed, for once I'd like to be prepared for what awaits us.

"So an old friend?" I ask. Jack crinkles his nose, considering this.

"That would be stretching it, I think."

"An enemy, then. You have plenty of those." I smirk, but he chooses to ignore it.

"Let's just say it's an… consultant." I frown, again with the short answers. I know he just does this to be mysterious – 'Captain Jack Sparrow, mysterious traveller and mastermind of plans.' Rolling my eyes of the idea, I keep pushing.

"Consultant of what?"

"Of matters that requires consulting," he says impatiently."Now go do something useful, I don't pay you to ask questions."

"You don't pay me."

"I don't pay you _yet_," he corrects. "Now, off you go if you want that matter to change!"

* * *

Fresh seawater gradually turns to murky, greenish sludge, as the vegetation closes around our small ship. The smell of rotting threes and swamp water grows more powerful as we travel upriver, and the dense jungle blocks out most of the moonlight, forcing us to travel at slow speed, carefully watching out for any obstacles in the way. It is late evening, but there's a damp warmth to the air that makes me sweat. At least I think it is because of the heat, I always feel slightly… _eerie,_ coming to this place.

We have sailed as far as possible, before the river becomes too shallow, and I start climbing down, into the water, signalling Girlie to follow me. She regards the river with a sceptical look.

"Is it deep?" she asks. I shrug.

"Shouldn't be too bad, you'll probably be able to wade most of the way." She clings to the rudder, still not looking convinced. "You know how to swim, love?" I ask uncertainly. After all, she was raised by nuns, and they rarely float well in my experience.

"Kind of," she answers, while climbing down the ladder into the water. "I'll manage. Let's go before we get eaten by snakes or piranhas or something." I look at her, frowning. _Now I'll have to worry about that too, thanks a lot, young missy!_ Then I make an unconcerned hand-gesture, officially dismissing the issue.

"Not a problem, they probably all got eaten by the crocodiles." Ignoring her startled look, I proceed upstream, the eeriness expanding inside me for every step.

* * *

I wade trough the slimy swamp-water, trying to keep my breathing easy and my head clear. The dampness and darkness feels suffocating, and there's a sickening haze descending on my thoughts, which I must fight off before it fills my mind. Buzzing of insects, birds and frogs is the backdrop for the splashes we make as we proceeds up the river. Each splash sounds painfully loud in my ears, and the birds' song transforms to screaming. Suddenly the darkness is all consuming, and I am shivering despite the heat. _There's no way out, I'll die in darkness…_

Clutching my head, I fight the feeling of the world spinning out of focus, and pull myself out of it, focusing on my concrete surroundings instead. I front of me, I can barely make out Jack in the semi-darkness. He appears to be a bit preoccupied too, but I can't tell if it our surroundings that makes him jumpy or the thought of meeting our consultant. Right now I'm quite glad he's distracted, as it would be embarrassing if he'd noticed my little meltdown. Maybe he'd even find another thief for this quest if he found out how messed up his current one is. I decide to ignore my own nervousness and focus on his in stead, as something that can get Jack Sparrow this wined-up must be quite spectacular…

And so she turns out to be. After about ten more minutes of wading, we reach a house that looks like it grew from the jungle – just as dark, damp and half rotten. We step out of the blasted water and on to the porch, right above the waterline. A ragged curtain is pulled aside, and woman of indeterminate age walks out. She resembles her surroundings in being not beautiful, but exotic and fascinating in a shabby, corrupted way. Her eyes are dark, with a slightly dangerous spark in them that lights up as she sees us.

"Dear Jack!" she greets. "Faith has brought you back to me."

"Tia Dalma!" Jack exclaims. "A marvellous sight, as always." He smiles his most charming smile, although it has a hint of unsureness to it. I can relate to that, the woman is somewhat unsettling. Now she turns to me, studying me with all sign of interest.

"And you brought a little friend! Come! Come inside both of you, we have business to settle."

We follow her in to the house, and she offers us two wobbly looking chairs, and we sit down in the candle-lit room. Strange items seems to be covering almost every surface, there are even artefacts of indeterminate nature hanging from the sealing. Our host disappears trough another curtain and returns shortly afterwards, carrying two mugs. She offers the first one to Jack, and from his happy expression I can guess its content.

"Something for warming up the bones…"

"Hear, hear!" Jack exclaims.

"…and the soul." She hands me the other mug while giving me a look that I can't help feeling is meaningful. From the hotness of the mug, I can already tell it's not rum. It smells nice, though, like berries and herbs, and I decide to drink it. If its poisonous, at least I won't have to wade back trough that damned river. As I down the content of the mug, I am filled with a pleasant, warm calm, and I sit back and listen as Jack and Tia Dalma begins their _busyness._


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N**

**So, yeah… the efficient posting didn't happen, sorry about that. I have some struggles with my writing-motivation, but I am really set on finishing this story, and there is still a long way to go. So I guess I'll shamble along in an uneven, unsystematic manner, hoping to get there eventually, much like I do in real life. As always, reviews are welcome. **

Chapter fifteen – Innocent blood and consequences

She regards me as I finish my drink, her eyes scanning me in that meticulous fashion that always unsettle me. It is like she's reading my very soul from the state of my shirts-sleeves or something else of such occult nature. I don't like it one bit, especially since I have very real concerns about the condition of said soul, as even it's very existence has been doubted by others on several occasions. With a hand gesture I motion her to start talking, as that will give her something to do besides judging me.

"So…" I begin just to get her started. As expected she interrupts me, she always does.

"You got the map?" She eyes me, critically. I smile back at her with great confidence, hiding my sleeves just in case she's not done with the soul-staring.

"Aye." _Of course I did, I am, after all a renowned pirate._

"And the relic?"

"Jupp." _Does she take me for some kind of imbecile?_

"And the last coin of the treasure? You know the treasure needs to be complete for you to curse it."

"Yes, I know, and yes, I have it." I can't help sounding a bit impatient. Why doe's she always assume I'll make a mess of things? For all the years I've known her, she have never stopped treating me like the boy I was when we first met, even though I'm much more impressive now, as she can clearly see.

"And you brought all that with you her?" I grin and pat the small satchel in my belt. Tia Dalma cross her arms over her chest and frowns.

"That was foolish of you. You should hide the items in safe places and only bring them together when they are needed for the ritual. If someone steals that satchel of yours, you'll lose everything." She snakes her head, sighing. "You always were reckless, Jack."

I roll my eyes and throw my arms up, there's just no pleasing this woman!Calming my self with great effort, I grumble:

"Could we just get started, if that's not too much to ask?" She smirks, her eyes glinting darkly.

"First, my payment." I nod and dig trough my satchel for the small roll of fabric, triumphantly unrolling it and letting the bones roll onto the table with a dice-like effect that is really quite satisfying. It takes me some effort to refrain from exclaiming 'tada!'.

"One saints-finger for services rendered," I proclaim. Tia Dalma examines the bones on the table and nods appreciating.

"You only need one finger-bone to perform the cursing, I'll take the rest as payment." She states this with an air of inevitability, making it hard to protest. Still, I can't give in completely without a fight, being after all, captain Jack Sparrow.

"I'll choose which finger to use for the cursing." I demand. She rolls her eyes at me.

"Fine."

I examine the bones closely, while taking care to hum and frown and expel all signs of deep contemplation. Which finger is the most evil? The obvious answer is the middle finger, of course, but I've witnessed some pretty malicious behaviour conducted with a pinkie. Perhaps the thumb is the way to go, being opposable and all? My host is clearly growing impatient, so I decide to go for the classics. I extend my hand towards the bones, but stop halfway and look up at Tia Dalma.

"Which one's the middle finger?" She scowls at me in silence, and I grab a random selection of bones from the table. "Probably this one," I say, smiling disarmingly at her. "One treasure, one finger and then…?" My consultant gathers the rest of the little white pieces from the table in to a small leather pouch, then she smiles menacingly at me, making me want to shiver in the heat.

"Curses are made from wrongful blood spill," she says. "The blood of an innocent is needed for the ritual." I rub my bead, considering this new information.

"That might prove difficult to obtain."

"Can't you use your little friend?" She nods in direction of Girlie, who has been uncharacteristically quiet during our discussion. I raise a hand in a dissuasive manner.

"I don't think…" but my accomplice has clearly returned to her normal state, as she interrupts me:

"The blood needs to be from someone innocent, right?" We both nod. "Well then I'm no use to you. I've killed like four people in my life."

"Five, counting that priest from yesterday," I add helpfully. "And then there's the thieving and the prostitution…"

"Shut it, Sparrow!" She shoots me a glare, then goes on to stare defiantly at Tia Dalma, who returns her stare with a small smile.

"Very well," Tia Dalma says. "You'll need to find someone else then." Girlie shrugs, and settles back in her chair, seemingly disinterested in our further conversation. I turn to Tia Dalma, waving the rather unpleasant issue of innocent blood away.

"Yes, yes. We'll find someone else. Now, teach me the ritual." I look at her expectantly.

"Its rather complicated. _Again with the condescendence!_ Gritting my teeth, I force myself to stay polite, as is suitable for a captain, and frankly advisable for anyone within a mile radius of that crazed harpy. "I think I'll manage, thank you."

After several failed attempts of mastering the chants for the ritual, I'm aware of the lack of mocking from my accomplice. I turn and find her sleeping in her chair. There's a calm over her face I've never seen before, not even when she was unconscious. I squint at Tia Dalma, pointing my finger accusingly.

"What did you give her?"

"Just a calming potion." I nod reassured, causing my host to grin knowingly.

"What?" I ask flatly. I hate it when she gets that look, it means I'm going to learn something about myself – a subject of which I prefer to go uneducated.

"You care for her," she purrs. I carefully arrange my features into a mask of utter neutrality.

"I need her for my plan."

"But you like her, and you care about her. Why? Does she remind you of yourself as a child, or is the great Jack Sparrow getting lonely on his older days?" She laughs a dark little laugh at my perplexed expression, but then her face turns serious. "The girl is damaged and needs someone to look after her, but you never look out for anyone but yourself. Also, your friendship tends to have grave consequences, Jack. How do you know it will turn out differently for her?"

"Not saying it will," I counter, smiling despite the murmuring of guilt in my guts. Damn harpy! Most to get the topic off my mind, I say: "We should probably get going, can I wake her?"

"She'll sleep for a few more hours." She squints at me, scanning my features with an unsettling calculating look on her face, before declaring. "And so should you." Her all-seeing eyes must have caught the uncertainty in my eyes when sleep is mentioned. "So the nightmares are back?" I don't bother to answer, knowing she'll keep talking anyway. And surprise, surprise: she does, in a low, menacing voice. "Your demons are yours, Jack, you made them, there is always a prize to pay," I nod, there's no arguing that.

"Decisions were made…" I say, shrugging. "You know I always take the consequences… that I'm completely unable to escape in any way, that is, of course." I can't help sending Girlie a jealous look, as she is sleeping so peacefully in the chair, Tia Dalma follows my gaze and chuckles.

"Do you want some of the potion as well?" She offers, taking my mug from the table with a smirk.

"No, thank you." I say, leaning back in my chair, resting my feet on the table and closing my eyes. "I'll rather have a refill on the bone-warming stuff."


End file.
